


Crossing the Line

by Chya



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-30
Updated: 1999-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chya/pseuds/Chya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Keel turns rogue and Sam Curtis has to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Brenda for editing!

The sniper looked through his telescopic sight, focussing on the door that his target would soon be coming through.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he sat back on his heels. Adrenaline pumped through him, making him feel a little queasy. The action he would take in just a few moments would cost him almost everything he cared about; starting with his career and his friends.

But he had been given the choice, and had made his decision. He could still change his mind, and was now seriously contemplating doing exactly that.

The minutes ticked by. He went back to the gun, and focussed once again, ignoring the tourist, happily snapping pictures below.

The door opened, and a man stepped out. Not the target. A few seconds later several more men came out laughing and chatting together. In the middle, his target shook someone's hand. The man's head was in his sight.

He moved the sight down a little. Headshots weren't his thing if he could help it. His finger tightened slightly on the trigger. This was it: the point of no return.

Hesitating for just a second, he committed himself, pulling the trigger. The target lurched falling against his comrades and people started shouting.

The sniper ducked below the windowsill before anyone could see where the bullet came from and packed his rifle in smooth, efficient motions.

As he made his way out of the building, the queasy feeling turned into active nausea at the thought of what he had done and the price he was going to pay.

*****

Sam Curtis was in shock. He stood with Malone as CI5 operatives tore his partner's flat apart. They had already found the cartridges, and the envelope stuffed full of money, well hidden, but it had been no match for CI5's persistence. They had only the gun to find.

And Chris Keel? He stood on the other side of Malone, hands cuffed behind his back, a distant, insolent look on his face as he stared out of his window at the tombstones beyond.

It was Spencer who came in from the kitchen, nervously holding the polythene wrapped rifle.

"Well, Mr Keel," Malone said softly, "Do you have anything to say for yourself, now?"

Chris turned his gaze to his boss, saying nothing. Malone sighed, "I didn't think so. Take him away."

Sam shook his head in disbelief, as Chris was herded out of his own flat. "Chris isn't an assassin, he's not... not ruthless enough." He protested to Malone for the umpteenth time. 'Not like me,' he thought to himself. "Maybe he was framed. Under some sort of, of – "

"Mind control? Drugs?" It was Malone's turn to shake his head, "No, we've already eliminated those possibilities. And as for being framed, maybe, but Miss Backus has had the photographs and video thoroughly examined; they are not fakes."

"But killing in cold blood? That's not the Chris Keel I know!"

Malone smiled thinly, "Then I don't think you know Mr Keel very well at all. He was a Navy SEAL you know, and learnt to kill at very young age; something you should relate to."

Sam suddenly turned and stormed out, needing to get out of the flat, away, into the open air.

*****

Sitting in the park, Sam thought back over the last few days. It had started when he and Keel had been on a stake-out. Chris had received a call on his mobile; a wrong number apparently, but he had been edgy all evening afterwards. The following day, Keel and Malone had had a heated discussion, muffled behind closed doors.

He remembered Chris' words vividly as he had stormed out of Malone's office. "I'm getting out of this fucking job, Sam, as soon as I can, I'm getting out. I've had enough."

At the time, Sam had dismissed the statement as something said in the heat of the moment. But these last few days, Chris had been picking fault with everyone and everything, especially Sam himself. A couple of days ago, Chris had exploded at him, his words delivered with deadly precision that had left Sam recoiling, angry and hurt. They had barely spoken since, Sam unable to easily forgive his friend for getting far enough under his armour to actually be able to hurt him with words. And Chris, for reasons unknown, was unwilling or unable to apologise or to make peace.

And then Hans Waldeck had been assassinated. Waldeck had been a high-powered businessman, with strong political connections throughout Europe. There were any number of people with reason enough to kill him, and the individual Chris had been caught on videotape with, Horst Koerner, was one of them. Koerner had subsequently vanished, so Chris was left as the fall guy.

Fuzzy photos of the assassin had born a strong resemblance to Chris, but even with digital enhancement there was still room for doubt. The photos and video had all been sent in anonymously, arriving less than an hour after the incident. Malone had acted immediately, sending a team to Keel's apartment to find him packing a suitcase, ready to travel.

Six hours of unsuccessful interrogation and tests and they were back at Keel's flat, tearing it apart.

But what had bothered Sam the most was Chris' reaction, or lack of it. No denial, no angry outbursts, just cool, silent resignation. Not a word said in his own defence, or any admission of guilt.

*****

Sam looked through the small window into the interview room where Chris was being held. The American was slouched in the straight-backed chair, his hands still cuffed behind him, facing a one-way mirror with a plain Formica table and a second chair between them. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and he seemed intent on scraping the years-old chewing gum from the floor with the heel of his boot.

Sam opened the door, but Chris did not look up.

"Bored?" he asked, and Chris then looked up, startled.

"What are you doing here?" the American asked, pointedly going back to his scraping.

"I wanted to know. Did you kill Waldeck?"

Chris shrugged, "What do you think?" he asked softly.

"I don't think you did," Sam replied without hesitation, "I don't think you could have done it."

Chris smiled sadly, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sam," he chuckled at some private joke, "But it's sadly misplaced."

Sam moved over to sit opposite Chris, "Tell me," he said, wishing his friend would look at him.

"Not much to tell, I'd had enough. I joined CI5 in the hope I'd be able to go after my wife's killers on the right side of the law, maybe take out a few other nasties along the way. It's not going to happen. Even if Malone knew who they were, he wouldn't let me at them. He told me as much the other day." He shrugged, "You know what they say, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

"So you've crossed the line," Sam said, still uncertain.

"An opportunity came up. Kill someone with a high profile and join the club. Waldeck was just unlucky."

"And what good's that going to do you now? You got caught! They'll send you to prison!"

"So you do believe I killed him."

"Yes – No! I don't know, Chris!" Sam's voice was pleading and Chris looked up.

"Then I'll put you out of your misery, Sam." he said softly, "And I'll give them what they want," He glanced at the mirror behind Sam, "I shot Waldeck. I did it without coercion and of my own free will."

Sam looked into Chris' eyes, and knew for the first time, without a doubt, that Chris was indeed guilty of firing the shot that killed had Waldeck, and worse, that he had no regrets about doing it.

Feeling angry and betrayed, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

*****

For Sam Curtis, the last straw came less than twenty-four hours later, when Chris Keel escaped from custody. No one knew how he had done it; one moment he was in a CI5 holding cell, the next, the cell was open, two agents were on the critical list with fractured skulls, and he was gone. Only one surveillance camera had caught him, running down a passage with a gun in one hand, and an ID swipe card in the other; obviously from one of the two agents; no one had seen him leave.

Malone, of course, had hit the roof, and once he had finished shouting at people, he had every available resource out and looking for Keel. He was listed as armed and very, very dangerous.

In Sam's own mind, the close relationship he had had with his partner – ex-partner – had ended, and in his customary ruthless fashion, he switched off any associated feelings. Keel had turned rogue; the two comatose agents in ICU proved that to him; if it had been any kind of set up, he would have held back with the agents, and from the camera evidence, he was obviously alone.

*****

Malone watched Sam Curtis pursue his ex-partner with a ruthless determination that frightened even him. A trail of broken noses and terror lay in Curtis' wake, and Malone felt guilty for every hurt that Curtis inflicted in his drive to find Keel. He should have sent Curtis away the minute this whole thing blew up. But he knew that Curtis would not have stayed away.

And while Curtis worried him, he had greater concerns. Someone was leaking information out of CI5. It seemed random, and therefore was probably for money, but too many operations had gone sour where CI5 had been expected.

*****

Chris Keel launched into the greasy fried breakfast with enthusiasm. He was starving, and so absorbed in his food that he didn't notice the tall, stocky red-haired man enter the dingy cafe.

Chris looked up as the man plopped himself heavily in the seat opposite him, and took another mouthful of fried egg.

"You've really done it now, haven't you?" the man smirked, his New York accent strong.

Chris just shrugged, washing the egg down with great gulps of black coffee.

"Did you sleep under a bush last night, or something? You're a real mess."

Again, Chris just shrugged and concentrated on getting as much food down in as little time as possible.

Morris waited patiently until Chris had eaten his fill, and then leaned over conspiratorially, "I take it you're in?" he asked.

"You still offering the same terms?" Chris asked, coldly.

"The money? Oh yeah, you might even get a bonus if everything goes well."

Now Chris leaned forward. "The information," he hissed, "I want the information."

Morris sat back in his seat and nodded, "The information, too."

Chris relaxed slightly, "Take me to your leader," he almost smiled.

********

In the car, Morris glanced sideways at his old friend, so different from the man he had first met. He remembered a time when Chris was wild and daring, living on the edge, leaving a trail of pretty women in his wake, his one passion to fly, as fast and hard as he could.

Then Alex had come along, and he had fallen truly, madly, deeply in love. He had even talked about giving up the Navy for her. But Morris himself had fallen in love with Alex when she had put a firm stop to that talk. She knew where her man's heart lay, and was not prepared to take that away from him.

Morris had been the best man at their wedding, and the massacre at the reception had left its scars on him as well as Chris. He remembered drunken nights spent together, plotting their revenge on the bastards who had done it, and making vows to catch them whatever, and however long it took. But time plodded on, with no trace of them. Chris had thrown himself into the SEALS, and Morris had followed him, buddies to the end.

Until Morris had been invalided out with shattered kneecaps. He had plastic ones now, with little residual pain, but he was still the best damned underwater explosives expert in the business. That is, in the mercenary business. He was still bitter from the rejections he had received from official agencies, after because of his injuries in service to his country. So he turned to people who wanted, needed his services, and left his morals back in the black pit that had taken his kneecaps.

Morris came out of his reverie when he realised Chris was asking him a question.

"I'm sorry, miles away, what did you say?"

"I said, why did you call me? I thought you'd forgotten."

"About Alex? Never. You know I loved that woman almost as much as you."

"I suppose. What are we doing?"

"Get ourselves neck-deep in shit. Just like old times, eh?" Morris grinned broadly, and even Chris smiled slightly. "All I can tell you is that you're getting paid to shoot a couple of people, and fly us out. Peterson, the guy you're replacing, got himself shot up with too much heroin. Stupid bastard."

"And the first person you thought of was me?"

"With you working for the government? Hell, no. But when I found out that the bosses knew about Alex, well, I thought I'd see if you were still mad enough to dump that shit and join us," he laughed, "I knew you would be. Didn't expect you to do it so damned quick, though."

Chris shrugged, and stared out the windscreen, "Your call just came at the right time. The boss and his fucking rules were strangling me. And my partner, well, he's a good man, I could trust him to cover my back. Even called him friend. Not anymore, I guess."

"Kinda like we used to be?" asked Morris, eliciting a short, dry laugh from Chris.

"No, nothing like you. He's so by the book, it's stifling, and he's so bloody neat and tidy, not to mention nagging. He nags – nagged - me about being a slob, eating too much junk food, talking too much, talking too little, not thinking things through, thinking about things too much, you name it. It was doing my head in!"

"I like the guy already. You've always been a slob." Morris glanced at Chris again, and was happy to see him chuckling, the dark mood that clung to his friend, dissipating a little.

*****

Chris accepted the strong black coffee that the small blonde woman handed him with a grateful smile. Linda Willis was a quietly confident woman just a little older than himself, with a permanently sad cast to her pale blue eyes.

She smiled in return and gave Morris his coffee along with a quick peck on the cheek. The rusty-haired man pinched her backside, and she slapped the back of his head with a small giggle.

He caught her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. "Hey, Chris, would you believe that this sweet bit of fluff is the greatest little thief known to man?" asked Morris, proudly.

"Stop it," squealed the blonde, laughing. "I know how to pick a lock, is all."

"Right. The most sophisticated locks on the market. You don't give yourself enough credit, sweetie."

Chris rolled his eyes as they nuzzled each other affectionately. The front door to their dilapidated cottage opened and slammed shut again, causing Linda to jump away from Morris faster than a scalded cat.

Chris was reminded of the Thompson Twins from the Tintin comics when the little gang's bosses entered. They wore identical pin-striped suits and bowler hats, and had matching, neatly trimmed moustaches. But while one was well over six feet tall, the other was barely Linda's height.

The taller man, with brown hair a shade darker than that of his companion offered his hand to Chris. "Algernon Kippel," he introduced himself as Chris shook the proffered hand.

"Ralph King." the smaller man added.

"You come highly recommended, Mr Keel," Kippel remarked, taking a cup of tea from Linda.

"Highly recommended," echoed King, also accepting a cup of tea. "We were most impressed with the Waldeck incident."

"Most impressed," agreed Kippel. "We didn't expect you to choose someone with such a high profile."

"A high profile indeed. Quite a coup, really."

"A coup." Kippel nodded.

Chris was speechless, uncertain whether to laugh, or run away from this insanity as fast as possible. He settled for a mumbled, "Pleased to meet you, too. Glad you're impressed."

"We take it you fly as well as you shoot?" King asked.

Chris hesitated, waiting for Kippel to echo him. When there was no echo, he replied with conviction, "I fly better than I do anything else, better than anyone else."

The two men, nodded at each silently, "Then we will show you your part in the plan," said Kippel.

"The plan," said King, "Though your target will not be assigned until a later date."

"Much later date," reinforced Kippel, before leading their gang, with its newest recruit, into the makeshift study.

*****

Hours turned into days, which in their turn became weeks, and the hunt for Chris Keel petered out, relegating the American to a permanent fixture on CI5's 'ten most wanted' list.

Sam got used to the empty space at his shoulder where Chris used to be, though it seemed as if it would never go away, even if it were to be filled by someone else.

And eventually, it was indeed filled by someone else. Jerry Evans was, like Malone, ex-CIA. He had been with CI5 for a few months now, but had mainly been restricted to office work, as his field experience within the CIA had been fairly limited. It embarrassed Sam that he had never noticed the man around the office.

He was relatively young, with a gung-ho streak much like Chris. Jerry was rather more superficial though, his entire conversational repertoire spanning from sex to women and back again, with the occasional dip into motorbikes and guns.

At first, Sam disliked the man on principal. He was too green and too shallow. Sam would never trust him to cover his back like he had Chris, though whether this was Jerry's fault, or Chris's fault for betraying him, Sam shied away from analysing. So he blamed it on Jerry.

But, as it turned out, Jerry was very good at his job, and while Sam would never completely trust him to cover his back, would never let him close, they fell surprisingly easily into a comfortable routine.

The only area where Jerry truly was a novice was in killing. His targeting was impeccable, his reflexes sharp. But he had not used those skills in the field on anything other than inanimate objects. Sam dreaded the day that the man would have to learn to kill for real. It would make him or break him, and Sam would have to pick up the pieces.

*****

The informer smiled as he counted the cash he had retrieved from his deposit box. As usual, the extra benefits he accrued from his current position were lucrative.

CI5 had no idea about him or what his employers' were planning, and he was able to use his not inconsiderable network of contacts to make unrelated earnings on the side.

He laughed to himself as he switched on his mobile to make a call. He would see if anyone was willing to pay up for his most recent titbit of information.

*****

Sam stood at the window, watching people coming and going far below the penthouse he currently occupied.

Jerry leaned on the wall by the door, arms folded and clearly bored. The Austrian politician they were guarding was about to engage in critical talks, and had received death threats. Not a big case for CI5, but it was Malone's way of breaking Evans into fieldwork.

The politician was currently reading a newspaper on the sofa, relaxed in the knowledge that he was being guarded by the best.

The phone rang, putting both agents on the alert. The politician answered, "Koerner?" he asked, "Yes, I'll accept the call." Sam's ears pricked up. "Horst? How are you? Where have you been?" the politician laughed as Koerner replied.

Sam was immediately on his mobile, and quietly asking Backup at HQ to trace the call.

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of room service. Sam looked at his watch as his stomach rumbled. Breakfast. He nodded to Jerry and put a hand on his gun, just in case. The politician, used to procedure by now, quickly finished his call and disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door.

Sam and Jerry pulled their firearms and Jerry opened the door, keeping behind it. Sam smiled in relief when he saw the regular room service boy, but that relief quickly turned to alarm as he realised the boy was shaking and nervous. The boy started to wheel the trolley in, but was shoved hard into the room by two men in balaclavas, wielding shotguns.

The boy initially blocked Sam's line of sight, and he threw himself behind the sofa both for protection, and to get a better aim.

Jerry stepped out from behind the door, and instinctively put a bullet through the first man's head. The other man backed out a little, and let a shot off at Sam, then another at Jerry.

Sam ducked as the stuffing was blown out of the sofa, then quickly let off a shot that sent the second man flying.

Jerry cried out as the man's second bullet ploughed through the door, missing him by a hairsbreadth, but sending splinters into his face and hands.

Sam yelled at Jerry to check the politician while he secured the corridor.

Finding the rest of the floor empty, Sam went back into penthouse to find it empty apart from the room service boy cowering in a corner, staring at the bodies on the floor and the bedroom window wide open.

He looked down, and chuckled. The Austrian was clambering down the fire escape as quickly as he possibly could, with Evans in hot pursuit and yelling at him to stop.

Taking the lift, Sam met the pair at the bottom, and reported in to Malone, but it was Backup that answered the call.

When he had finished relaying the incident, he asked, "Any luck on that trace?"

There was a slight pause before she replied. "Sorry Sam. There wasn't enough time."

*****

When Sam had terminated the call, Backup turned to Malone, standing behind her and asked, "Why did I have to lie to him?"

"Because, Miss Backus," Malone said regretfully, "Mr Koerner is involved in some rather critical manoeuvring, and it's not in anyone's interests for him to be implicated in the Waldeck incident. I don't believe Mr Curtis is in a rational enough frame of mind at the moment to understand that."

Backup nodded, understanding, but feeling at the same time that there was something she was missing.

*****

Malone sat in his office, and tried to will away the headache that was coming on. While he enjoyed playing games, he still hated politics. And while he had no compunction about keeping his agents in the dark when they didn't need all the facts, he hated making his agents lie to each other.

And there was still that wretched informant. He or she had to have been the one to tell the attackers where Curtis and Evans were with their charge.

And on top of that, there was the Prime Minister's secret peace talks to be held in just a couple of weeks on the HMS Belgrade, which would be docked at Southampton. He had to organise the security for that, and how could he be certain of the PM's security when there was a leak in his own back garden?

He sighed, the headache was getting worse.

*********

In another hotel room, another hotel, Sam paced furiously, while Evans cleaned himself up in the bathroom.

The previously calm, cool politician was now a quivering wreck. Sam had not given him any time to get over the shock of the attack before laying into him, demanding information on the whereabouts of his good friend Horst Koerner. Information that the man didn't have. As far as he was concerned, Koerner was on an extended business trip to parts unknown.

Sam gave up, cursing a blue streak. He stared out of the window, anger building within him. Anger at the politician for not knowing where Koerner was. Anger at Chris for betraying CI5 and betraying him. Anger at Evans for not being Chris. Anger at Malone for saying whatever he said to set Chris off. Anger at himself for not stopping Chris, for letting the American get under his skin and close enough to hurt him.

He gazed at the myriad of people below, going about their business, then at the buildings over the road and the skyline beyond. Somewhere out there, Chris Keel was running and hiding, and Sam had to find him. He had tried to lock his feelings up like he had so often before, but somehow the American kept coming back to haunt him. The empty space at his shoulder refused to go away, as if waiting for Sam to do something. He had to find Chris, bring him to justice if necessary, but ultimately to find some sort of closure.

A crash came from the bathroom, and Sam, nerves on edge, charged in, battering the door open with his shoulder. Jerry was lying on the floor, propped up against the toilet, and retching into the bowl.

"You okay?" he asked, though the younger man clearly was not.

When the spasms passed for a moment, Jerry looked at him with huge eyes. "I – I killed him..." he stuttered before his stomach heaved once again.

Sam leaned against the wall back outside and groaned. What the hell had inspired Malone to give this moron a place on the team?

*****

Backup jumped up from her workstation excitedly, and burst into Malone's office.

"Sir! Chris Keel's been sighted in Haslemere!" she told him. Sam, sitting in the chair opposite Malone, clenched his jaw.

"When?" he asked softly.

"Less than an hour ago. An off-duty police officer recognised him in a grocery store with another man. I've got a description of the car they were using, and the police are keeping a discreet eye on it."

"I see," Malone cleared his throat as two pairs of expectant eyes watched him. "Well, Mr Curtis, I don't suppose giving the job to someone else is going to deter you from making an unscheduled trip?"

Curtis did not reply, but the determined expression on his face told Malone all he needed to know.

"I didn't think so." he sighed. "Evans will not be going with you, I still need to debrief him from the last affair, but I think you can handle this by yourself." Sam almost bolted from his chair, but was reined back by Malone's sharp tones, "Mr Curtis! You will make a positive identification of Mr Keel. You will not approach him under any circumstances. Do I make myself clear?"

"But – "

"No buts, Mr Curtis, we don't know what Mr Keel is up to, who his companion is, nor his frame of mind. You will assess the situation only. Then I will take appropriate steps to secure the man. We don't want to scare the local population needlessly."

"No sir," Curtis agreed stiffly. "Identify and assess only."

"On your way, then." Malone looked after Curtis worriedly as he left. He was taking a huge gamble by sending Curtis out alone in this case, but had enough faith in the CI5 agent's discipline to believe he would follow orders closely enough to keep himself and any civilians safe.

*****

The informer cursed. Things were going rapidly wrong. He had not been paid for that last fiasco as the politician was still alive, and was attending the conference at that moment.

And Keel had been sighted and Curtis had gone charging off after him. He had warned his employers of the CI5 agent's movements as best he could, but was still worried that his own position could be compromised.

*****

Liaising with the local police had brought Sam to a dilapidated old house in the woods near Haslemere. The battered old Escort that the off-duty officer had described was sitting outside, but Sam had not seen any movement in the last couple of hours.

The snap of a twig behind him made him turn and quickly scan the trees. A rabbit bounded across the forest floor with a fox in lightening pursuit. Relieved, he fixed his attention back on the house.

Sam froze as cold metal came gently into contact with the back of his

neck.

He turned slowly to find a tall red headed man staring evilly at him. The man indicated that the CI5 agent should move.Sam soon found himself standing next to a wall in the cellar of the old house, alone and handcuffed to a pipe.

He only had to wait a short while before his captor reappeared with two other men, who seemed to be in charge. The two moustached men were wearing identical jeans and open collared white shirts, making them look like mismatched twins, and they spent a moment examining him with the curiosity of children examining a bug.

"Nasty little spy," said the tall one.

"No, just a nasty little nosy bugger," disagreed the short one.

"CI5 know nothing," said the tall one.

"We know they know nothing," agreed the short one.

"This one wants his old playmate," said the tall one.

"His new playmate must not be good enough," said the short one."What's going on?" Sam asked, annoyed.

"We didn't tell him he could speak," said the short one.

"We didn't," agreed the tall one, turning to the redhead. "Hit him, Mr Morris."

"Make it hurt, Mr Morris." instructed the short one.

Morris raised his rifle, and thrust it heavily into Sam's gut, making him double over, retching slightly.

"Find the others," said the tall man.

"Bring them here," added the short man.

Morris disappeared and reappeared a few minutes later with a short blonde woman and Chris Keel in tow.

"A present for you Mr Keel," said the tall one.

"Do you like it?" asked the short one.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Chris asked, shocked.

"Found him snooping, Chris." explained Morris.

"By himself?"

"I checked, but couldn't find a partner.""Our contact said Mr Curtis would be alone," said the short man.

"And alone he seems to be. Our contact is always right," said the tall man.

"A good contact to have," agreed the short man. "What do you think we should do with him, Mr Keel?"

Chris shrugged, "Throw him back, Mr King."

"Why?" asked the tall man.

"Because, Mr Kippel, if we kill him or take him with us, CI5 will be down on us like a ton of bricks. If we put him to sleep for a few hours, he won't know anything that's of any use, and CI5 can do what they like – we'll be long gone, and the evidence destroyed."

"But he knows who we are now, Mr Keel," said Mr Kippel.

"It may not be safe to let him go," agreed Mr King.

"We're all in the CI5 database already," Chris remarked. "Even Ms Willis." He nodded at the blonde woman. "He doesn't know what we're doing here and we're moving out tonight anyway. CI5 won't know any more than they do already."

"A valid point Mr Keel," nodded Mr King.

"Indeed," agreed Mr Kippel. "I suggest you see to it that Mr Curtis gets a good nights sleep, Mr Keel."

*****

Sam was left in the cellar for hours while the gang made preparations to move out. He fingered the handcuffs knowing he could escape them easily. Chris would know that too, but had neglected to point that out. But maybe he had been too surprised at Sam's presence to notice.

He decided to stay put; he needed to talk to Chris, find out what was going on. The reasons his old partner had given before seemed valid, but somehow, they hadn't been enough. He could certainly see the volatile American turning his back on CI5 to pursue on old vendetta, but he couldn't see Chris becoming a cold-blooded murderer. In hindsight, he recognised Chris' angry, hurtful words as a way for the American to distance himself, and could not believe that he meant them.

He heard a car leaving the premises - not the Escort, but the unmistakable rumble of a four by four. Shortly after that, Chris came down to the cellar and unlocked Sam's handcuffs, keeping the CI5 agent at gunpoint.

For a brief instant, Sam almost thought that Chris was going to let him go. But Chris merely told him to put his hands behind his back, and snapped the cuffs shut.

Chris took Sam outside, and prodded his former partner over to the Escort.

Neither man was willing to break the uneasy silence, neither man willing

to give in first. But eventually Sam's need to talk to his old friend won out.

"Chris you don't have to do this – ," he tried to turn and face his old partner, but Chris shoved him back so that he was facing the boot of the car.

"You have no idea," Chris growled as he unlocked the boot, and lifted it up."Then give me some idea," Sam pleaded.

Chris hesitated. "Imagine your heart and soul ripped from your body and mind in less than sixty seconds," he said softly, "I will do anything, and I mean anything for payback."

Sam swallowed as he heard the genuine, bitter pain in Chris' voice.

"Even if it means causing others the same pain? Waldeck's family? Those two CI5 agents lying in comas? How many others?"

"Anything, Sam," Chris hissed, pushing Sam toward the boot. "Absolutely anything."

"I'm not letting you go any further," Sam said, throwing himself at Chris.

The two rolled to the floor, but with Sam hindered by the cuffs, it was Chris who recovered first, retrieving his gun and getting to his feet.

Sam lashed out with a foot that caught Chris hard in the groin, sending him to his knees, gasping.

"I'm taking you in, Chris, whatever it takes."

Chris leapt forward, landing hard on top of Sam, knocking the breath out of the older man, and straddling him.

"Sam, shut up," the American snarled, and brought his gun crashing down on the Englishman's head.

*****Chris heaved Sam's unconscious body into the boot of the car, and stared at the limp figure for a moment before slamming the boot shut and sinking to the ground, elbows on his knees, emotionally exhausted.

What the hell had he done to deserve a friend like Sam?

He thought back to that call on his mobile. Morris and his offer. He had taken it straight to Malone of course. The old man had exploded when he had told him of his intention to see it through, to find out about the hush-hush plan Morris was involved in. And of course to get his hands on the information, to get his hands on the bastards that had taken his wife.

Chris shook his head; he should never have spoken to Malone the way he had. The old man had turned purple with rage.

He should have trusted Sam, should have talked it through with him before making a decision. Sam was way more level-headed, and would have probably talked him out of it. But he hadn't wanted to be talked out of it, and that was why he had done his damndest to push Sam away with carefully chosen, spiteful words, designed to make the Englishman hate him.

In a lot of ways, Chris wished he could take everything back. But what was done, was done, and there was no turning back now.

But he could stop it now. Now that he knew what Kippel and King had planned; he could contact Malone, and just maybe...

He dismissed that thought. He needed to know who his wife's murderers were too badly. He was in this mess alone, and would play this game out to its no doubt bitter conclusion.

Chris picked himself up, and retrieving the jerry-cans of petrol from the garage, proceeded to douse the house.

*****

Sam did not think he had been unconscious for long; he could still hear someone, probably Chris, moving about. The strong smell of petrol assaulted his nose, and it took a while before he realised that it was not coming from the car.

A whooshing and crackling preceded the smell of burning, and for one horrible moment Sam thought that the car had been set alight. He heard a motorcycle start up, then take off, fading into the distance.

He started working on the handcuffs, but, head pounding, fell involuntarily asleep before achieving anything.

*****

The informer was relieved when he heard that his employers had dealt with the Curtis situation.

He was safe in his position, for now.

**********

"So the Prime Minister's safely on board, Mr Spencer?" Malone asked down the phone. Satisfied with the answer, he said, "keep me advised," and put the phone in its cradle as Sam Curtis entered his office.

"I thought I made it quite clear that you were not to approach Mr Keel," Malone snapped at Sam, who stood at attention before him. The agent was a little grey and sported a large bandage at his temple, but it earned him no sympathy from the CI5 chief.

"Sir, I didn't – !"

"You are a highly trained CI5 agent, Mr Curtis. I cannot believe that you were taken so easily, nor can I believe that you found a simple pair of handcuffs so difficult to be rid of. I am well aware of your lock picking abilities, you know."

"Yes, sir," Sam agreed resignedly, knowing there was some truth to the old man's words. Truth that he didn't want to admit to himself. It was easy for him to regard Keel as a traitor, and lock his feelings away on a day to day basis, but once faced with the man himself, Sam couldn't quite believe that his old friend had crossed the line.

That Keel had given him concussion and not seemed bothered to even check on him had both shocked him, and brought home the fact that Keel was no longer on his side, even on a personal basis. He had been found by the fire brigade who arrived only in time to put out the fire that had already consumed the house, leaving only smoking ruins.

"Now," said Malone, "Sit before you fall, and tell me what you've found."

When Sam had finished his brief report, Malone sat back in his chair, hands steepled in thought. Eventually, he nodded to himself. "Yes, I know King and Kippel. Rather an odd couple," he said.

"You can say that again," Sam muttered.

"But no less dangerous for that," Malone said sharply, "Their only motivation is money. They do whatever anyone wants so long as they're paid enough. Whatever their game is this time, someone else is paying them to do it; and as their repertoire is so diverse, it's anyone's guess as to what they're up to."

"What about Morris and Willis?"

"Kippel and King rarely operate with the same team twice. We have an advantage in knowing who is on their team this time. They both are extremely talented planners, but never do anything themselves. In Morris and Keel, they have trained killers, and stealth operatives, Keel specialising in flying, Morris specialising in explosives, particularly underwater explosives. And Willis is a highly skilled thief."

"So they're stealing something?" said Sam, "Something in water, with an airstrip nearby. And they're down Portsmouth way."

"Or stealing someone," said Malone, picking up the phone, his manner suddenly urgent.

*****

An explosion rocked the HMS Belgrade, and all hands made their way forward to try and contain the damage.

The Prime Minister was hurriedly bundled out of the conference room by his two bodyguards, Spencer and Backup, and taken to the helipad on the top deck.

The pushed him into the waiting helicopter, rotors already spinning. Backup leaned in to give the helmeted pilot instructions, but words failed her when Chris Keel turned to face her. He pointed his gun straight at her chest. "Tell Malone I'll see him in No Mans Land!" he shouted above the engine. Then pulled the trigger, the bullet sending Backup flying backwards to hit the deck.

Spencer immediately trained his gun on Keel, but a knife at his throat made him lower his weapon. Keel shot him in the chest, too. Linda put her knife away as she jumped into the craft next to the Prime Minister. "Spoilsport!" she shouted.

The Prime Minister reached for the opposite door, but it was opened for him, and Morris jumped in yelling, "Go, go, go!"

Chris Keel took the helicopter up, and looked regretfully at the two figures sprawled unmoving on the deck below.

As he banked the aircraft in towards land, he saw a familiar car pull up, Sam Curtis and his new partner jumping out to fire up at them, and Malone standing by, looking up at the helicopter.

*****

Malone watched the helicopter disappear into the distance, too low for radar, too fast to be tracked from below. The RAF had been put on alert, and even now had aircraft taking off, but Malone knew that the helicopter would have landed somewhere remote before the RAF had even a chance of finding them.

He hurried to the Belgrade to find out the damage done. By some miracle no one had been killed, though there were a few bruised heads and egos walking around.

He found Spencer and Backup on the top deck, picking themselves up.

"Just winded, sir," Backup gasped.

"I think I broke a rib," moaned Spencer, "Thank god for Kevlar."

"What happened?" Malone asked as Curtis came up behind them.

"There was an explosion in the bows so we got the PM out to the chopper, but the pilot had been replaced by Chris Keel." explained Backup.

"He shot us," Spencer was still gasping. "There was someone else too, got me from behind with a knife."

"Did Mr Keel say anything?" Malone asked.

"Nothing," Spencer shook his head and coughed.

"Just some flip comment about seeing you in hell," said Backup.

Malone raised an eyebrow. "In hell?" he asked, a peculiar look on his face. "Are you sure?"

Backup shrugged.

"I think he said No Man's Land, actually," said Spencer.

"Really?" Malone chuckled, but stopped suddenly and cleared his throat. "Private joke. Miss Backus, Mr Spencer, get yourselves checked up by the medics, they should be here shortly, then report back to me. Mr Curtis, you're with me."

*****

Chris Keel and Linda Willis sat on the steps outside the little ramshackle house, drinking coffee.

"Shame you didn't get to use your skills," said Chris, "I'd love to have seen you in action."

"Well, they might have locked him up somewhere instead of bringing him straight up on deck."

"We had all bases covered I guess. Nice work with the knife, by the way, sorry I spoiled your fun."

"Doesn't matter, we got the job done. I couldn't have killed him anyway."

"So, why are you in this?" he asked curiously. "You don't seem the type to go in for kidnap and murder."

She shuddered involuntarily, "I'm not," she said quietly. "Part of the ransom demand includes the release of some political prisoners. My husband is to be one of them."

Chris choked on his coffee. "Your husband?" he gasped. "What's with you and Morris then?"

Linda smirked, "He's fun, you know? My husband's been in prison for over five years. Morris knows there's no future in our relationship. It's just, he's a good friend, maybe a bit more, and he understands."

Chris nodded, understanding more than she knew. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Linda spoke again, a little nervously.

"I-I like you, Chris," she said. "And I think you should know something."

"What is it?" Chris was curious when Linda would not look at him.

"The information you want about your wife..."

"What about it?"

"Kippel and King don't have it."

"What?"

"Whoever is employing them might have something, I suppose, but Kippel and King certainly don't. Morris has a big mouth, you know? He's always telling stories about his time in the Navy and the SEALS, spoke a lot about you and Alex. He really loved Alex."

"Where is this going?" Chris asked faintly.

"Morris was getting bored, you know how he can be, and Kippel and King were worried that he might take off, especially after Peterson dropped dead. So they decided to let it drop that they knew something, and might be prepared to share it with Morris if he stayed. I overheard them talking about it, you see. I didn't want to tell Morris that he was being strung along, I don't want to lose him just yet. But you, when he involved you, well, it just doesn't seem fair."

Chris closed his eyes, feeling dizzy as he felt everything slip away.

He vaguely heard Linda telling him she was sorry, but he couldn't bear to even be near her. He scrambled up, and dropping the coffee mug to shatter on the step, walked rapidly away from the house.

The walk turned into a run, and he kept going, faster and faster, needing to get away from them all. The world passed by in a blur as his lungs fought for air, but he pushed on, until he was brought to a tumbling halt by a loose log hidden in long grass.

He lay there, prone for a little while, catching his breath, and letting the emotions swirl through him. When at last he could form coherent thought, he rolled over to look at the sky.

He should have known it was too good to be true. He had known there was a chance it was all a wild goose chase, but the hope, the need for vengeance had been so strong, it had overridden everything else.

What the hell had he done? Right now, all he could think of was that he had lost everything, absolutely everything.

*****Malone stared at the piece of paper in front of him with Curtis, Evans, Backup and Spencer in attendance.

"We will give them what they are asking for." Malone finally declared.

"What?" snapped Sam, "We can't give in to –"

"Mr Curtis," Malone interrupted, "this is the Prime Minister we're talking about here."

"But even so – "

"Mr Curtis, has it yet occurred to you, that these demands are not in line with the kidnap of the Prime Minister? They are asking for the release of political prisoners, one of whom happens to be the husband of one of the gang members. They are also asking for a lot of money, which fits Kippel and King, but I doubt very much whether it is the motive for their employer."

Sam opened his mouth to speak again, but snapped it shut at Malone's glare.

"Now, I suspect that the real motive was to disrupt the peace talks, and that the gang are milking it for some extra benefits. The real question at this point is whether the Prime Minister is required to be dead or alive. Accepting their demands will buy both CI5 and the PM time."

"So what do we do? The RAF located the chopper in a field, but we have no idea where they went from there." said Backup.

"On the contrary, Miss Backus," Malone said somewhat smugly, "I know almost exactly where they are."

*****

The informer was panicking. His position had not been compromised yet, but his employers had. He had had no opportunity to inform his employers of their precarious position before he had been sent out on the case with what seemed like the entire CI5 offices. He couldn't even find a moment alone with his mobile.

He calmed himself. He had always been a quick thinker; he would get out of this one.

*****

Malone was worried. He had every available agent on this case, the majority in support roles, but whoever the informant was had to know what was happening. Malone hoped fervently that the mole had no interest in this case. However, his gut told him otherwise. He regretted that he was not able to tell his agents everything that they needed to know.

He hadn't even told them the name of the village where they were headed, for fear that the operation would be compromised.

He regretted that he was even now sending at least one agent to his death. He felt as if he were losing control.

*********

"We should kill him now," said Morris, waving his gun at the bound man's head. "You agree with me, don't you Chris?"

Chris yanked the bound man's head back, and looked coolly into the frightened eyes.

He snickered. "My trigger finger agrees with you, Morris, but my head's telling me it'd be better to keep him alive. Just a little longer. Just

until we get the money."

"And until the political prisoners are free, of course," Linda added sternly. She was worried about Chris. Since he had returned from his tantrum, he seemed so angry and bitter. Much more so than before.

"Right, until the prisoners are free," Chris, agreed half-heartedly.

King and Kippel watched their comrades with narrowed eyes.

"You don't seem very enthusiastic, Mr Keel," said King.

"You have to be on board with the team," agreed Kippel. "If you're not, we can always terminate your contract."

"We can replace you easily," King finished.

"I'm enthusiastic about the money and the information," Chris told them. "I don't give a damn about the prisoners. And anyway, I already did my

bit for this crazy plan."

"Quite right," applauded Kippel, while Linda grunted.

"We like honesty," agreed King, ironically. "You'll get your money."

"And your information," finished Kippel, as Chris just glowered.A mobile phone rang, and King answered. A short conversation later, he put the phone away, and said, "our transport out of the country is ready."

"We must leave now," added Kippel.

"Right," Morris snarled. "Lets kill the bastard before we go."

"I still think we should take him with us; we might need a hostage."

King and Kippel glanced at each other. "Fair point, Keel, but we have contingencies," remarked King.

"We'll kill him now," agreed Kippel. "He has to die in any case."

"Mr Keel, our gift of thanks to you. You can kill him," King said.

"My information?"

"We'll tell you everything on the way out," assured Kippel. "There will be plenty of time for us to talk then."

Chris aimed his Beretta at the Prime Minister's head, and felt the others around him, expectant. "There's no challenge in this," he muttered, moving backwards.

He only stopped when the wall was at his back, and held the gun pointed directly between the prisoner's eyes. King and Kippel were standing directly behind the prisoner, and they swiftly stepped to either side. Morris was relaxed, leaning against the wall. Linda had her arms folded, and her nose turned up in disgust.

Chris took a deep breath, and counted to himself.

One.

King fell, dead before he even knew what was happening.

Two.

Kippel, too surprised to do anything about it, fell next to King.

Three.

He aimed at Morris, but Linda screeched and launched herself at Chris as Morris brought his gun to bear on Keel. Both Americans fell backwards as their bullets struck home.

Four.

Linda fell on top of Keel, screaming and scratching, her knives forgotten. The gun lay trapped between them, both combatants struggling to point the barrel at their opponent.

Linda was surprisingly strong, and Keel was losing blood from his shoulder wound. Sensing victory, Linda snatched at the trigger. At the small explosion, both combatants went limp.

Groaning, Chris pushed her off to leave her keening on the floor.

He made sure there were no weapons on or near the bodies on the floor, and went to untie the bound man. Crashing glass made him turn, too late, as the bullet crashed into his side, burying into his gut. He flew into the wall, and rubber legs refusing to support him, slid down to sit on

the floor, arms too heavy to do anything.*****

Sam burst through the door into the room, and froze, gun pointed at the scene in front of him.

In the middle of the room sat the Prime Minister, tied to a chair, and gagged. In front of him, Evans stood, dazed, with shards of glass littering his hair and his gun by his side.

On the floor, five bodies lay bleeding and dying from bullet wounds. Against the opposite wall, one of those men sat upright, like a broken doll, and Sam recognised him with some detachment as Chris Keel. He ignored the little voice that urged him to make sure Chris was alright, doing his utmost to remain detached. This was the job, and Chris was on the wrong side.

He looked at the other broken bodies and recognised King and Kippel straight away, King staring with dead eyes. He couldn't see the faces of the remaining two, but the red hair of the man moaning in the corner meant he must be Morris, and the blonde woman curled near the window behind Evans had to be Linda Willis.

A rasping voice came from Kippel; "Kill the Prime Minister." Kippel looked over at Morris, his gaze slipping past Keel to Willis, and finally resting on Evans. "At all costs, kill him..." The voice bubbled away as the man finally drowned in his own blood.

Evans raised his gun, with a sick expression on his face and looked at Sam, shaking off his daze.

"You cover me while I secure them," instructed Sam, going over to the girl. As he rolled her over, he noticed a sudden movement from Keel.

Three things happened simultaneously.

Keel fired off a shot; at Evans, or the Prime Minister, Sam could not tell, and didn't have time to care.

Sam snapped a shot off at Keel, catching him high in his already bloody shoulder, and the American slumped slowly and lifelessly to the side, leaving a crimson smear on the wall.

Evans flew off his feet to the side, Keel's bullet embedding itself in his head, his own shot flying uselessly into the wall.

Sam went to Evan's side, and confirmed that he was dead. He secured the others, noting with a pang of relief, despite himself, that Keel was still alive, though all three of the living wounded were losing blood heavily. But that was not his problem. He called Backup in, asking for an ambulance, and went to untie the Prime Minister.

"Thank you," the man gasped when the gag had been removed. "But can I ask whose side you're on? I'm getting rather confused."

"He's on my side," came a new voice.

"Harry!" the PM visibly relaxed. "Thank God."

Malone looked over the bodies littering the room, who were now being attended by Backup and Spencer, the rest of CI5 piling in behind them. Paramedics followed shortly after. "Mr Curtis? Would you care to elaborate on the conditions of Mr Evans and Mr Keel?"

"Keel was already wounded when I got here, sir. I shot him when I saw him aiming, but was too late, and he shot Evans."

"Ahem, excuse me, ah, Mr Curtis, is it?" began the PM, "I don't think you seem to be fully aware of the situation. Your friend Evans was about to shoot me between the eyes when Keel killed him."

"What?" said Sam, his own voice sounding as if it came from a great distance.

"You're quite right, Prime Minister, Mr Curtis is not fully aware of the situation. More specifically, he is not aware of Mr Keel's situation which is, I see, at the moment rather precarious." He frowned as Keel was carted past them on a stretcher.

Sam stared after him, the feelings he had locked away trying to get out. He pushed them back, needing to know everything before doing anything else.

"Come, Mr Curtis, we'll talk about this at the hospital." Malone said. "Miss Backus will escort you home, sir," he directed the last comment at the PM.

"Thank you, Harry. I sincerely hope your man will pull through, he was quite the hero, you know; took out the entire gang by himself. Most impressive. "

Backup joined the little group. "It was all a setup, wasn't it sir?" she demanded rather than asked. "Keel was undercover all along."

"Quite so, Miss Backus. Now I want you to escort the Prime Minister back to London."

"Yes sir," she snapped, not ready to forgive her boss for making her lie to Sam, or for leading Chris to his probable demise at the hands of his own friends and colleagues.

"Incidentally, where exactly are we?" asked the PM.

"Just outside a tiny village called Nomansland. Would you believe it?" she looked directly at Malone, making sure he knew how she felt. 'Poor Sam', she thought glancing at him as she led the PM out. 'He looks completely shell-shocked.'

A mobile phone rang from one of the remaining bodies. Malone bent down, and retrieved it from Evans pocket. He answered it with a brisk, "Hello?"

After a moment, he switched the phone off and let it drop onto Evans corpse. He swiftly left the house, a stunned Curtis following in his wake.

**********

"So, what you're saying, is that it was all a set up?"

"Yes, you didn't really believe Mr Keel would assassinate someone, did you?" Malone allowed himself a small smile.

"I didn't, even with all the evidence. But I spoke to Chris in the interview room, and at that point I started to believe him, and when he hit those agents..."

"Ah," said Malone. "Actually, that was me. Underestimated my own strength. No real damage done, they're both recovering well, and I'm giving them extra sick leave."

Sam gaped.

"Don't look so shocked, Mr Curtis, I was a field agent myself, at one point. I simply despatched the guards, unlocked his cell, and made sure the security cameras failed temporarily. Mr Keel did the rest himself. The photographs and video were real of course, and Messrs Waldeck and Koerner are currently enjoying a paid holiday in the Caribbean. It seems Evans was the mole. Only Keel and myself knew what was really going on. No one else for fear of the mole finding out."

Sam slumped back in his seat. "I shot him. I can't believe I shot him."

"Yes, I'm quite impressed, and pleased in a way. It shows that you were capable of doing your job despite any attachment you may have had."

"You're pleased?!" Sam snapped. "I'm kept in the dark, made to think my partner and best f – my partner is a traitor. He's sent off on a mission, and not only do I not get to cover his back; I'm hunting him down myself, on a dead or alive basis. And when he's sitting there already dying from one stupidly brave act, I go and shoot him for committing another and you're pleased!?"

"Yes. After all, if the whole thing fooled you, then it was foolproof."

If the doctor had not called them just then, Sam was sure he would have done something he would have regretted.

"How are they?" asked Malone.

"I'm sorry, Miss Willis did not regain consciousness, she passed away in surgery. Mr Morris and Mr Keel are still on the critical list."

"Prognosis?"

The doctor put on his sad face, "I don't think Mr Morris' chances of survival are very high. Too much internal – "

"Keel!" snapped Sam, "I want to know how Chris Keel is!"

The doctor failed to be intimidated by the outburst, "Mr Keel's chances are rather better. As long as he responds to the blood transfusion, which is in some doubt as he lost a lot of blood and is in deep shock of course. But if he pulls through that, then the injuries themselves are flesh wounds, even the gut shot managed to miss anything vital - he'll recover. But the next few hours are critical."

Sam turned away, pent-up anger and worry eating at him. Malone explained the entire operation to him, but most of it didn't seem to register. Eventually the old man left, leaving Sam alone in the waiting room.

Sam sat in there for what seemed like an eternity, trying to digest everything that had happened in the last few hours.

It seemed that Morris was an old friend Chris' but that he'd turned mercenary, being involved in some heavy-duty incidents. When Morris had contacted Chris, Malone had seen an opportunity to nip whatever Morris was involved with in the bud. He had sent Chris in with no backup, and no way to contact CI5 with simply the instruction to find out what was being planned, and stop it.

The old man had implied that he was letting Chris have his head because the American had something to get out of his system, but the comment went over Sam's head. He had also muttered something about having Chris' head for letting it go too far.

But all that didn't make a haporth of difference. When it had come to the crunch he had shot his partner, and yes, his best friend. Whether it was the right thing or not was irrelevant; he might as well have shot himself. In hindsight, he was shocked at his own ruthlessness.

He was still wallowing in those thoughts when exhaustion overtook him.

*****

Several hours later, the night nurse woke Sam up.

"Mr Keel's out of danger now."

"What?" said Sam, blearily, stretching out the cramps. "Chris's okay?"

"Yes. You know you don't have to sit out here. Are you sure you don't want to sit with him?"

"No," said Sam, "Thank you. I just wanted to know he was going to be okay." Sam stood and stretched fully, before walking slowly out of the hospital.

*****

Chris lay in the hospital bed feeling utterly exhausted. It was over, but he felt empty inside. The emptiness that came with the pain of Alex's death, as fresh now as it had been when they buried her. An emptiness that, while it had never gone away, had been somewhat assuaged when he joined CI5, but was now back in its overwhelming dark glory.

A movement caught his eye, and he was surprised to see Backup quietly making her way over to him. She stared down at him, anger plain in her eyes.

"Forgive me?" he asked, his voice sounding empty even to himself.

"You knew we were wearing vests, right?" she asked coldly.

"I hoped," Chris replied, nodding. "Didn't think the old man'd have it any other way."

"You hoped," she echoed faintly.

"Yeah," Chris tried a half-hearted grin. "That, and you looked fat."

"Bastard," she replied, the anger fading slightly. "You owe me and Spencer a lot of dinners."

"You didn't come to cheer me up then?"

"After what you did? Not on your life." Backup leaned down and smiled evilly. "I'll see you at work, and you'd better believe I'm not gonna let you forget this one." She stood up, laughing, the anger leaving her eyes... almost.

When Backup left, Chris was left smiling, but just a little bit scared.

*****

Sam heard the persistent knocking on his front door, and did his best to ignore it.

It was probably Backup again, to have a go at him for avoiding Chris. She had informed him of Keels reinstatement into CI5, and his release from hospital just a couple of days ago.

But the knocking didn't stop.

Resignedly, he answered it. "Backup, I'm not – " he stopped as he saw Chris standing there, or rather, leaning on the door frame, looking a little worse for wear. One arm was in a sling and the other was pressed tightly to his side.

"I was beginning to think I'd have to shoot my way in," Chris grinned at him.

"I suppose you'd better come in before you fall down. Drink?"

"Coffee."

"Not beer?"

Chris grimaced. "Painkillers."

"Oh." There was an awkward silence as Sam made the coffee – he didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry." Sam said.

"About what?"

"Shooting you."

"Don't be. I deserved it."

"What?"

"Malone gave me a hell of headache chewing me out." He paused, "and I'm sorry for putting you through all that, but I hope you understand why..."

"I suppose so. Part of the job and all that."

"Right, part of the job," Chris paused again, uncertainly.

"You don't sound sure."

"I went too far. I was lucky no one else got hurt. No one else who mattered. Much." The last word was whispered.

"Morris?" asked Sam.

"Best man at my wedding, we were tight once. And poor Linda."

"I'm sorry," said Sam, not knowing what to say. His own maudlin thoughts suddenly seemed to pale into insignificance, and the need to make everything better for his friend pushed through. So he waited for Chris to speak again.

"They offered me Alex's killers, Sam. I could have stopped the whole thing when you came to the house. But I couldn't. I needed to know. But in the end they lied. I felt so close to what I've been looking for since Alex – but it was just a wild goose chase. I was so stupid."

"If its any consolation," Sam said thoughtfully, "I think I would have done the same."

"It's not, but thanks." Chris leaned back, blinking back tears he would never let flow. When they had gone, he looked over at Sam mischievously.

"I'm never gonna forgive you for not visiting me in the hospital, though."

"Sorry about that," Sam was suddenly awkward. "Couldn't seem to find the time."

"Apology most definitely not accepted," Chris told him. "I had this old guy in the bed next to me, who wouldn't stop telling me his war story."

"Stories," said Sam automatically.

"No, story," Chris insisted, "He lasted three days in boot camp, before being chucked out for having flat feet. I got that story repeatedly for five entire days, before he was carted over to geriatrics. That was hell, and you owe me big time for making me go through it."

Sam chuckled, leaning against the back of the sofa, and allowed his locked up feelings of faith and trust in his partner - along with everything else that went with them - leach warmly back into his soul.

FINIS

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there really is a place called Nomansland.


End file.
